‘Toothbrushes'

I paused with my tongue halfway along the cigarette paper and looked at my friend Richard over the top of the almost finished joint.  While it's not unusual for Richard to get a little sidetracked I felt he was a bit early tonight as we hadn't even sparked up our first number.

I finished licking the paper and rolled the joint with an expert flick of my fingers.  Done this before...oh yes you'd better believe it.  I continued to look at Richard but he didn't seem motivated to explain, so I prompted him a little. 

‘Toothbrushes?'

‘Yeah', he passed me a light, ‘toothbrushes are indicative of everything that's wrong with the world today.'

I lit up and pulled deeply, holding the smoke deep in my lungs.  I was interested in how he'd arrived at this little gem and tried to encourage him to explain.  Since I couldn't talk without losing the precious smoke this mostly consisted of going red in the face and making ‘uhuh, uhuh' type noises.  Happily we have been friends for long enough that Richard understood I really meant ‘Pray, continue, oh great learned one.'

Richard stretched his long legs out under the table and took a swig of his beer before beginning.  ‘You know I was away for business last week.' 

It was true; I did know that, however although I knew he had told me I couldn't remember where or why and I hoped that the knowledge wasn't necessary to his story, or I'd have to admit that I wasn't really listening to him again.  I know this bugs him and is a sore point in our friendship but what can I do?  Richard leads a varied and active life while I spend most of mine sitting here smoking a lot more than is good for me. I barely remember my own days without having to take in his as well.

‘So I was driving along listening to Classic FM.' Richard continued. ‘Do you want to know why I was listening to Classic FM?' 

I nodded and finally admitted defeat, breathing out a great cloud of smoke.

‘I was listening to Classic FM because it was the only station where I could find any music.  My hire car had the stereo controls on the wheel and I went up and down the stations for hours and all I could find was the news, screaming adverts and bigheaded DJs sprouting on and on and on; and half of those twats were discussing bloody TV programs. I mean what's the fucking point in that?  If I watched TV I would have already seen the program so why would I want to hear about it again.  Even worse if, like any sane person, I hadn't watched TV because it's so mind numbingly dull, then why do they suppose I want to be confronted by the same shit on the radio where they don't even have the bloody pictures.'

I made the most of the opportunity afforded by Richard's rant to get a few more good tokes in and I could feel the smoke enveloping my mind like a friendly duvet, rounding off the corners of reality.  I took another deep drag while Richard continued.

‘It's not just the radio either.  Every newspaper is full of what happened on TV the night before, like it's important news or something.  Magazines scream about the plot lines of crappy soap operas and treat the actors like they're real people.  I struggle to understand how we've got to the point where all forms of media have merely become an extension of the worst form of visual valium that is TV'.

‘But that's not the reason I was listening to Classic FM.  The real reason is that it was the only station I could find a reception on.  How is it that in a country as small as the UK, we are unable to broadcast a radio signal that remains constant?'

Richard paused for breath and I handed him the joint.  I knew that he was just winding up and figured that a little puff would help grease his vocal cords.  Richard sucked hard then continued to talk in a high-pitched voice while he struggled to hold the smoke down.

‘Honestly, how can they call it National radio when the bloody signal falls out every time you get to the bottom of a hill?  One station was boasting this morning that they are now live in America; I'd be more impressed if they managed to be live in Winchester.'

He exhaled a long stream of grey/white smoke and continued in his normal voice.  ‘But classic radio, ah now that's available everywhere.  You could be at the bottom of the deepest pit in Cornwall and you'd still pick up bloody Classic FM.  I mean, surely they've only got a listening audience of about five OAPs, so why is it that they've got a signal capable of reaching the moon? Where's the bloody sense in that?'

We sat in silence for a bit while Richard took a few big hits of the joint.  I could see that we were going to need another, so I reached over for my stash and the papers, letting Richard suck the life out of the first one.  He eventually handed it back to me when it was little more than a soggy roach; not that I minded, even though it was always my drugs we smoked I didn't begrudge Richard his share; he was a mate after all. 

I couldn't see the connection between classic radio stations and toothbrushes yet but I was happy to let Richard work his way up to it.  I've always found it best to just sit back and enjoy the ride when he goes off on one, so I occupied myself with burning some more hash off the block and waited for him to continue.

Richard drained his beer and got up to fetch another one. ‘And since we're talking about TV', he said, his voice muffled behind the fridge door, ‘what's with all the bloody repeats?'

‘Grab me one too will you' I called over as I put the finishing touches to our next joint.  ‘Anyway I didn't realise we were talking about television.'

 Richard returned to the table and put a cold bottle in front of me before wandering off again.  ‘I mean, I can understand how you might like to see the odd show again every once in a while,' he continued as if he hadn't heard me, ‘but what makes them think we want to see every show over and over again...where is that bloody bottle opener?'

‘It's by the sink' I called back. ‘Some people like the chance to see programs again you know.  In case they miss them while they're at work or something.'

Richard remerged with the bottle opener and popped the top off my beer before sitting down and taking a long pull on his own.  ‘Oh come on mate.' He said. ‘You of all people should know that it's pretty unlikely that anyone in their right mind would feel they are missing out if they didn't catch daytime TV.'

He had me there, like I said, I spend too much time at home getting stoned so I am a bit of an authority on the wonder that is daytime programming.  ‘All right then,' I said ‘but what about people who go out in the evening?  Shouldn't they have the opportunity to see a show they missed?'

‘But that's the point, why would they miss it?  For God's sake, everybody's got a video recorder haven't they?  But that's not the point either.  It's not just that they repeat the programs it's the way they repeat them.  I mean, take ‘Friends' for example.  First they repeat the whole series in order, then they repeat the whole series again but this time in a random order, then for some strange reason they repeat just series two - twice.  Then in case you still haven't given up on the TV completely they have a special ‘Chandler' week or a ‘Rachael' week, which provides them with the perfect opportunity to play a further random selection of shows in no particular order at all.'

‘So?  Some people like ‘Friends.'

‘Yeah, and the ones that really do, the ones that really want to watch it over and over; well they probably have the box set DVD by now so why is it still on TV?  Anyway it's not just ‘Friends'; there are whole channels that show exactly what's just been on, only an hour behind.  I'm sorry, but there is hardly anything on TV that's worth watching the first time, let alone needing to see it again an hour later.'

I'd sparked up the joint while he was talking and had managed to make good progress with it before Richard paused long enough to notice.

‘And do you know what kills me?' He said while he extended his hand and took the joint from me. ‘It's that I have to pay a bloody licence fee to watch crap TV...twice'

Richard was silent for a few minutes while he concentrated on damaging his lungs.  The combination of the smoke and the beers had me feeling pleasantly mellow and I deliberated about rolling another joint then figured, what the hell, it was a Friday night and I had nowhere to be in the morning.  Not that I ever do.

‘So', I said as I started to skin up again, ‘toothbrushes then eh?'

Richard pulled hard on the remnants of the joint and spoke around the smoke.

 ‘The thing is right, what is a toothbrush?  It's a pretty basic bit of kit isn't it?  It's got no moving parts and, lets face it, it's not like there's a huge variety of mouth shapes out there.  So why is it that there are so many designs of toothbrushes, it's not like we need that many different types is it?  It's just that in order to keep making money the people who design toothbrushes need to convince us that the one we've got now is not as good as the one we could have.'

He exhaled and ground the roach out in the ashtray. ‘It must be the worst job in the world being a toothbrush designer, trying to come up with a new spin on such a basic item.  I mean, once you've made them different colours, bent the neck, straightened the neck, changed the size and shape of the bristles - well, what else is there?'

I lit up the new joint and took a couple of quick deep pulls before handing it to Richard.  I wanted to keep his mind lubricated to see where he was going with his rant.

‘You know what's my favourite toothbrush modification? Non-slip handles!' Richard paused and took a drag before leaning forward and looking at me intently.  ‘Can I ask you something?  How many times have you been brushing your teeth and your hand's flown off the end of the handle?  Have you ever lost control mid-brush and thought ‘'Wow, another lucky escape, I wish someone would make this thing non-slip before I have my eye out.'' 

I took a slip of my beer and said ‘Nope, can't say it's ever happened to me.'

‘Me either', said Richard, ‘but someone, somewhere, has invested millions of pounds developing non-slip toothbrushes anyway.  And that's not even the worst bit.'  He took a drag and continued.  ‘The worst bit is that there's some poor bastard in a third world country somewhere slaving away to make me yet another piece of crap I don't want or need.  It's no wonder the rest of the world thinks the West is fill of rich decadent arseholes when they are scratching a living making that sort of tat.'

‘Oh I see', I laughed, ‘so that's why toothbrushes are what's wrong with the world today - Western guilt.'

‘No, no, that's not it at all.  Exploitation of the poor by the rich has always happened and always will.  It could even be argued that the need for non-slip toothbrushes provides much needed employment opportunities for those less well off...although argued only by a complete twat obviously.'

Richard took a swig of his beer and chased it with another drag before handing the joint back to me.  ‘The reason that toothbrushes are indicative of the world's woes is simple.  Of the myriad designs available they all have one thing in common.  They all have large, thick handles.'

‘When I am in a hotel room they provide the usual bathroom stuff, a crappy blunt razor, glasses wrapped in plastic, soap that doesn't lather and...a wall mounted holder for my toothbrush.  The thing is, the handle of my wonderfully designed toothbrush is too large to fit in the slot in the holder.  Development of toothbrush holders has just not kept up with current toothbrush design.  There doesn't appear to be any connection between the creative design side and the practical, actually using the bloody thing, side'

‘So, despite millions of pounds in design and development, further exploitation of third world labour and a never-ending perky advertising campaign telling me how lucky I am; my toothbrush still has to lie in the dirty, scummy water on the sink.  That is what is wrong with the world today.  Now, are you going to pass that joint back or what?'